The Taste of Smoke
by Tani Barton
Summary: There are some things that cannot be forgotten. For George Weasley, the taste of smoke is one of them.


Title: The Taste of Smoke  
Rating: PG-13 (?)  
Warnings: Mentioned death  
Summary: There are some things that cannot be forgotten. The taste of smoke is one of them.  
Feedback: Whatever you feel inclined to give, be that concrit or a flame or one simple word.  
Author's Notes: Written for hecatesknickers's Senses and Seasons Challenges on Livejournal. My prompt was #29. George Weasley; Taste; Winter; Smoking, Secrecy. Hopefully I did a credible job of getting everything in there.

Many thanks to deliciantasy (also on Livejournal) for a wonderful beta job. Any remaining bloopers are all my fault.

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As he stared at the burnt-out husk that had once been a house, George could almost taste the acrid stench of smoke still emanating from it. It made the winter air, usually so crisp and clear, hang heavy around him until he felt like he might be crushed under the weight of it.

Coughing slightly, he tried to wrap his jacket around himself a little more securely. It was colder than he'd expected when he dressed, and now he felt like the cold was slowly eating into his very bones. He wondered for a moment if the Muggles who had once lived here had felt something similar as the magical fire had consumed them. Then he shuddered and put the thought aside, into the short but growing list of Things He Didn't Want to Know.

Doing his best to put morbid thoughts from his mind, George looked around, searching for prying eyes and interfering hands. No one was supposed to know he was here, and he wanted to keep it that way. Well, except Fred, of course, who was creating the distraction that gave him this time. It was a limited timeframe, though, so he'd better get on with this. His senses confirmed what his heart had already known. No one else was in this desolate place. He was alone.

With a feeling of dread, he ducked under the blue and white tape reading "Police. Do Not Cross" that the Muggles had put around the remains of the building. The light dusting of snow crunched softly under his feet. He deliberately did not think of ground bones, spread in a thin layer across the ground instead of snow.

He was at the gap in the wall that may once have been a door. He stepped over the remains of what had probably once been a small roof over the front step, and as easily as that, he was inside. He was slightly surprised at the ease of it all. Somehow, he'd always thought it would be harder to step into the destroyed ruins of a life.

If he'd thought that the air outside was heavy, then the air inside was lead, weighing down on him until he thought he'd never breathe again. Then when he did manage to breath, he imagined there was a slight taste of burned meat in the air, even though he knew that was impossible. No one had burned here. The family had been locked into the small shed in the back when the fire had started. They'd never left. He supposed the Death Eaters had started the fire at the main house, then watched as it inevitably spread. Maybe they'd helped it along a little when they got bored. Either way, it was impossible for there to be any smell in here. Nevertheless, he choked back a gag, tasted bile, and had to force himself not to simply leave. This needed to be done, and if he left now he'd only have to come back later. That thought in mind, he drew his wand.

George concentrated on blocking out the outside world and instead putting all of his attention on the magic needed. This type of magic required a state of calm that was difficult to obtain at the best of times, and no matter what the need, George wasn't certain he'd be able to get it now. However, he had to try.

Slowing his breathing, he let go of the fear and disgust he was feeling. He let go of the cold and the taste of flesh that lingered in his mouth. He let go of the feel of his soft clothes brushing against his skin and the thought of what had happened to the people who had once lived here. He let go of everything he could possibly conceive of letting go, and then he opened himself to his surroundings.

He let his consciousness slip into the surrounding ruin and did his best to draw forth the imprint of what had happened in this place. There wasn't much left. Wood never held things for long. Dead things, no matter how well preserved they seemed, always suffered from decay, he'd found. He caught enough, though, to answer his question.

His hands clenched and he slipped from his near-trance as his entire body filled with anger. Those bastards had been using their products! He and Fred hadn't wanted to believe it when Harry, Ron and Hermione had told them, but apparently it was all true. He hadn't seen much. Perhaps that was fortunate considering what had taken place here. However, he'd seen enough. Looking now, he was able to distinguish traces of the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder mixed among the ashes. And if the Darkness Powder was being used, then what else did they have?

They needed to stop this, and now. Even if it meant working exclusively for the Ministry, even if it meant pulling their products off the market, even if meant abandoning profit for altruism. This had to stop. George knew that Fred would say the same.

Fists still clenched, he moved back to the entrance of the house. The air outside seemed fresh in comparison to what he'd just been breathing, even with the increased smell of smoke. A short distance away Fred stood, leaning against a fence and smoking a Muggle cigarette. It was a habit he'd picked up a short while ago on one of their frequent research jaunts into the Muggle world. George didn't really understand the appeal, but Fred seemed to like it. George liked it even less after what he'd experienced today.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, a bit of his dislike for the cigarette coming through in his tone. "Weren't you supposed be creating a diversion so this little investigation could remain a secret?"

"Yes," Fred admitted. "But I lost them a while ago, and I wanted to see if you'd found anything. Did you?"

In lieu of answering, George shoved his hands into his pockets and ducked back under the blue and white tape. He stood next to Fred, slumping slightly until his back was also resting against the fence.

"That bad?" Fred asked softly.

George nodded. "They used the Darkness Powder," he said.

Fred inhaled sharply in surprise and then choked on the smoke from the cigarette. He coughed and swore. "Shit," he finally said when he'd gotten his breath back.

"Yes, that about sums it up," George agreed.

"What are we going to do?"

George held off on his reply long enough to pluck the cigarette out of Fred's hand as he began to raise it once more to his mouth. George carefully put it between his lips and slowly inhaled. He let the smoke fill his lungs until he could stand it no more and exhaled just as slowly. Then he dropped the cigarette to the ground, grinding it beneath his heel. "We get serious," he finally said in answer to Fred's question.

Then he began to walk, the taste of smoke in his mouth acrid, but dissipating. Maybe by the time they got back to the shop and started making plans it would have vanished entirely. Even if it had though, he knew he would never forget the taste of smoke on a cold winter's day.


End file.
